Katharine Lee Bates

The Purple Thread - Poem by Katharine Lee Bates

Autoplay next video

'The priests distributed various coloured silken threads to weave for the veil of the sanctuary; and it fell to Mary's lot to weave purple.'—The Book of the Bee, ch. XXXIV.ITHE chosen maidens, Weavers of the Veil,Kneeling in crescent, from the High Priest tookTheir wisps of silk in slender hands that shookLifting the colors to their lips rose-paleWith holy passion, —colors like the frailSpring flowers of Carmel, blue as that glad lookOf dancing iris, scarlet as a nookOf wild anemones, or gold as sailSeen from its summit 'neath the Syrian moon.But Mary caught her breath in one swift sobOf pain uncomprehended ere it fled,Leaving her heart with some strange fear a-throb,For the wise priest, as one conferring boon,Had meted out to her a purple thread.IIO mothers of the race, ye blessèd onesWho weave with cherubim the veil beforeThe Holy Place of God, the mystic doorOf life, proud mothers of belovèd sons,To-day you send them forth to front the guns,Waving your boys farewell with smiles that pourStrength into their young souls. Your prayers imploreThe Mercy Seat; your love, an angel, runsBefore them with wild, shielding arms outspread.O Weavers of the Veil, however variesThe silk assigned, exceeding great rewardIs yours, for you —O you, most sacred Maries,To whom is given grief's royal, purple thread —Make beautiful the temple of the Lord.